


Invisible Hands

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Psychic Sam, Top Dean, powerbottom sam, season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:25:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3786517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season two. Sam finds a way to use his psychic abilities in some rather... unconventional ways. Some very, very incestuous ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invisible Hands

When Dean stepped out of the shower, all wet and shiny and half-naked, with only a ratty motel towel around his waist, Sam couldn’t stop himself from ogling for a split second. In that tiny, infinitesimal moment where all he wanted to do was fucking lick his brother before he got his hormones in check, a compartment in the back of his brain kind of… clicked open.

And just because he wanted Dean naked, the towel was yanked down from Dean’s waist without Sam moving a muscle from his perch at the kitchenette table. Dean swore under his breath, bending down to pick up the towel and for a few more seconds Sam got that rare perfect view, his eyes going dark as he admired both sides of his brother. Then, the towel was back on, and Dean was moving past him like nothing unusual had happened, yanking a t-shirt and a pair of boxers from the duffel bag on his bed.

That was the precise moment Sam decided not to tell Dean about the new… development, that’s what it was, of his psychic abilities.

Watching Dean sprawl out on his bed, a hand propped behind his head and his shirt riding up to reveal one of his hips, Sam knew he had a few new, completely harmless, completely innocent tricks he needed to try out.

–

The door closed with a single click behind Dean and Sam physically sagged lower on his bed, letting out a long whoosh of air. He’d been putting on a kind of facade for Dean, a “hey, it’s chill, nothing’s wrong, please don’t worry about me” kind of vibe, so Dean would stop hovering and worrying about whatever it was he was hovering and worrying about. Sam felt kind of guilty, and jerky in his movements, positive Dean could see past the blush in his cheeks to his ulterior fuckin’ motives. He must’ve looked suspicious as fuck, but finally Dean got up and stretched and said he was going for a supply run, and wouldn’t be back for a few hours.

Thank god.

The moment Sam couldn’t hear the Impala’s engine anymore he was unbuttoning his pants and shrugging them off, wiggling out of his boxers next. He let them fall in a pile by the side of his bed and he stretched his legs out, parting them a little and putting a hand on his dick, which was already chubbing up at the thought of what he was going to do,  _christ._  He couldn’t stop his fingers from tugging up, roughly. He was already  leaking, god damn it, and he kind of liked watching his cock fatten and redden. It was fascinating, really.

With as much control as fucking possible, he groaned and took his hand off his dick, gripping the sheets instead. Would this work? Was it even fucking possible, for the love of christ? So far the only thing he knew he could do for sure was move shit with his mind, but that had to mean something, right? Closing his eyes, he tried to focus his mind, to clear his thoughts. He tried a few breathing exercises, the type Dean had taught him to use for panic attacks. When he felt considerably calmer, he imagined his hand floating over and  curling around his dick, keenly aware that his real hand was still around the sheets, knuckles bone-white with concentration.

He jumped out of his skin when he felt something. He _felt_ something, holy fuck! He let himself relax, leaning back into the pillows, and pictured himself jerking himself nice and good, rough and all the way from the base to the head, just the way he liked it. He let out a long whine when he could fucking  _feel_  it, for real, the warm scrape of his palm on his cock even though both of his hands were currently at his sides. He imagined a thumb scraping over the head and bucked his hips into the feeling. He imagined another hand going lower, brushing over his balls before cupping them, running them between long fingers.

He let out a loud cry and imagined ten fucking hands all over him, worshipping him, wrapping around his thighs and spreading him further and probing his hole and skimming the sensitive vein on this underside of his cock. He let fingers slowly open him up, slicked with lube, pushing inside him and scissoring him wider. He let hands fist his dick, pumping precome out of him like he was fucking full of it– he was leaking all over the bed. He whined and imagine more hands pushing him down, holding him there, holding him open. He bucked against the force, more for show than for anything else, and fucked into the feeling of a thousand hands jerking him off and fingering him open.

Shit, this was too fucking good. This was  _inhumanly_  good.  _No one should have this much fucking power,_ he thought, feeling the familiar warm tightness coiling in his balls, even though it’d only been about five fucking minutes.

No. This shit was phenomenal. He needed to last longer, god damn it. He needed to worship himself longer, to wring out the best fucking orgasm that any human had ever  experienced. He deleted a few hands, and slowed down the rest, letting off of the pressure holding him down. He gave himself a moment to breathe, eyes still squeezed tightly shut. His heart was fluttering wildly in his chest, practically banging against his rib cage and demanding to be let out. This was… this was a side of his powers he hadn’t considered before.

He made a single hand slowly tug him, near the base, before it roamed higher, squeezing and milking more precome out of the fat red head of his cock. Another hand, dripping with lube, traced his balls lightly and squeezed them before roaming to his perineum and then lower to his hole, which was gaping, wanting something where the fingers had been.

All at once he lost any semblance of patience he’d had and let all the hands come back, forcing four, five fingers into himself roughly, crooking up and scratching at his prostate, rubbing insistently and causing him to jump and twitch and keen at the overstimulation. He let slick hands stroke him like he’d seen in all the best pornos, fast and good, sliding over the head before gripping the base again, over and over again. He lost his filter and started just fucking crying out, whining “ah, ah, ah,” with every glide of the hands on him and inside him, touching every single good spot of him all at once, and it was fucking insane. It was intense.

Before he really knew what was happening the warmth was spreading through him, and he panted and groaned as he came in long white ropes, the jizz being worked out of him until he was sated and sleepy and empty, and he laughed, lying there in his own semen, letting the concentration of the imaginary hands fall away. He released the little feeling in the back of his brain and sighed, letting himself rest for a moment.

When a headache started to build behind his forehead, he got up, cleaning himself off and redressing, trying to look as normal as possible before Dean came home. Every time he thought about the unreal masturbation session he’d just gone through his dick started to chub up a little bit, but with a newly-reknowned sense of mental concentration he was always able to make himself soft again.

The door open and he schooled his features, trying to look deep in thought as he read the same meaningless sentence on his laptop over and over again. Dean strode past him to their minifridge, tapping him on the ankle in greeting as he went. He dropped a few bags and squatted in front of the fridge, his back to Sam. Sam felt himself flush, like Dean was a fucking psychic, too, a mindreader, and he knew what Sam had done.

“Have a good jerkoff session, Sammy?” Dean asked, putting beer bottles into the fridge, and Sam could hear the cocky grin in his voice.

“Shut up,” Sam mumbled, suddenly unable to lie, his truths bared to his brother, and Dean laughed, throwing his head back.

“I could see right through you, kiddo,” Dean teased, getting up and winking at Sam.

Sam forced himself to roll his eyes and play along.  _If only you knew, Dean,_  he mused, _if only you fucking knew._

–

Over the next week that passed, Sam tested the limits of his abilities every single time Dean even went out for a fucking piss. He’d never felt more sexually satisfied in his life, and that was saying something, considering he’d been to a few orgies in college. Gay ones.

A fucked up part of his brain really wanted to abuse his power. Dean was always right there, _right fucking there_ , and it would be so easy to touch him with his invisible hands while he was asleep, to know the feeling of Dean’s cock in his hands, to know the heft of him. Sure, he’d seen it, glanced at it every fucking time he had the chance, but touching was different. Touching was more important.

It was like now that Sam was aware of his sex god status, he needed to use it to his fullest– on Dean. Which was fucked up. He was attracted to his own brother. _Ridiculously_  attracted. Even watching Dean fucking _drive_  made Sam want to maul him, to give him the best road head ever or climb into his lap and kiss him senseless. Every time he came he wondered how he’d managed to hide his overwhelming crush so well over the years. It was becoming harder now, the invisible hands he had always desperate to reach out and claim Dean. He had to imagine a light switch flicking off his psychic powers like fifty fucking times a day just to keep them dormant for another couple minutes.

The only godsend was that Dean didn’t seem to notice. Not that he would, anyway– it’s not like the hands were visible or made noise or anything. Sam only got a few more headaches, a few more nosebleeds, and blamed them on the dry weather. Dean never commented, but his face always dipped into a little frown, that kind he got when he was sure Sam was coming down with something.

The moment Dean drove them into the parking lot Sam was out of the car and onto the pavement, stretching his arms over his head and feeling his back pop. It was always so much harder to control himself in the car– with Dean constantly only inches away, his imagination went wild, which was now a potent, dangerous thing. He could even smell Dean, smell his leather jacket, his sweat.

It drove Sam up the fucking wall. Dean got them a room and he tossed Sam the key. Sam was inside in seconds, diving onto a bed and laying on his belly, closing his eyes and breathing in the musty scent of the pillow. He was bone-tired from restraining himself all day, and he let himself relax a little, Dean leaving to get their bags, far enough away to be safe.

Dean brought in Sam’s bags, too, courteous enough to dump them right on top of Sam. Sam groaned, burying his face further into the pillow and trying to wiggle into a comfortable position, desperately ignoring how Dean was leaning over him. Dean was practically on top of him.

Dean’s finger traced his temple before moving away. “You getting sick or something?” he asked, in that Dad-like tone that brooked no room for argument.

“Just tired,” Sam murmured, his voice muffled by the cotton blocking his mouth.

“Hmm,” Dean said, walking away, and it was obvious he didn’t believe Sam.

Sam was royally fucking screwed.

–

Sam knew he was dreaming, but that didn’t make it any less fucking awesome.

Dean was purring all over him, leaning into him, pushing him further back on the bed, his hands roaming and groping wherever they could.

“So good for me, Sammy,” Dean said thickly, in that low, sexy kind of voice Sam had heard him use on girls at the bar.

Sam whined and reached up so his lips could meet with Dean’s, and Dean laughed against his teeth before growling ferally and holding Sam in place, tilting his head this way and that for the perfect kiss. He was practically eating Sam’s mouth, plunging his tongue deep in and swiping all over, licking his way inside Sam’s mouth and leaving Sam breathless.

Dean pulled back and bit at the spot where Sam’s ear met his neck, sucking and leaving a bruise. Just as soon as he was there, he was gone, back at Sam’s mouth and biting and sucking on Sam’s bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth before releasing it and kissing Sam harder, rougher, and it was the best fucking kiss Sam had ever had.

Dean’s hand snaked between them and wrapped around Sam’s length, tugging him slowly and surely. Sam was hard before he knew it, fucking dizzy with it, all the blood rushing from his brain to meet up with Dean’s skilled hands.

Sam was humping against him eagerly, grabbing at Dean’s shoulders and pulling him flush with Sam, not even to kiss but to just fucking feel his body against Sam’s, to smell him. Then he came, spurting all over Dean’s hand like a fucking teenager, and that was the exact second his eyes flashed opened to the blackness of the motel room.

He was breathing heavily, and achingly hard. He’d creamed his goddamn boxers, the wetness rubbing uncomfortably at the head of his dick. He was covered in sweat and burning up. He shoved the blankets off of himself and waddled awkwardly to the bathroom, swiping a pair of fresh boxers from his duffel as he went.

He took a piss and changed and then caught his own eye in the mirror and stared. He was all red and pink, his hair sticking up all over the place, and he looked so damn guilty. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, shaking his head at his reflection before turning off the light and heading back into the room. He walked softly, listening to Dean as he passed the foot of his bed. He was breathing slowly, evenly. Good. He was asleep. He had missed Sam’s little… incident. It wasn’t like Dean had never witnessed it before– hell, Dean had been the one to give him The Talk all those years ago. But the dream was fresh in his mind and he wasn’t sure he could face Dean, or even his innuendo-laden jokes right now.

He blankly thought about how fucked up he was before he drifted back to sleep.

–

“Sammy, hoo  _boy_ ,” Dean crowed at Sam, dumping a box of takeout in front of him and shutting the lid of his laptop. He plopped into the chair across from Sam, whistling a cheery tune that was a butchering of some Aerosmith song as he opened up his own box.

“What’s got you so happy?” Sam asked, an eyebrow quirked. He put a napkin in his lap, his lip curling in disgust as Dean dug in, noodles flapping against his chin before he sucked them up.

Dean grinned over at him, his face covered in soy sauce and his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good dream, s'all,” he said, so casually it almost didn’t make Sam’s blood run cold.

When Sam didn’t respond, Dean continued. “It’s like… when you have one so good that the lips you’re kissin’ feel real, huh? Like there’s actually a warm little body moving beneath you. Perfect.” He sighed like all was right in the world, when it was actually quite the opposite, and Sam could barely swallow the food in his mouth.

“You’re disgusting,” he said weakly, and probably sounded like he was about to faint, but Dean just let out one of those sexual chuckles before digging in again, and Sam was left to silently and miserably contemplate his life over a pile of kung-pao chicken.

–

Sam didn’t talk to Dean for the rest of the day, too horrified he might accidentally blurt out the god-awful truth about what he thought might’ve transpired last night– his stupid fucking powers working their stupid, mystical bullshit. Dean was acting completely normal, though, laughing like a donkey at some sitcom on the TV, ankles crossed and hands gripping a greasy pizza as he chewed happily and loudly away.

Sam tried to make himself less tense. It was probably nothing, right? Just a weird fucking coincidence. Even as he thought it, he could hear his dad’s voice in his head, deep and sonorous:  "there’s no such thing as a coincidence, boys.“

Well, he’d made this guilt-ridden bed and he was going to god damn lie in it. And by lie in it, he meant never,  _ever_  mention this to Dean, and never try to use his powers again. If things could just go back to normal, and his brain could stop jumping at conclusions a mile a minute, he’d be the happiest person in the world.

Sam was so deep in thought, leagues deep, that he didn’t hear the TV click off and didn’t hear Dean shift until he was staring right at him.

"I know what you’ve been doing, Sam,” ended up being the first thing he did hear.

He was thrown out of his musings and he choked on nothing, turning to gape wide-eyed at Dean. “What do you…?”

“You know what I mean!” Dean yelled, and he wasn’t calm anymore, he was red in the face and he looked furious. “You’re using your powers, aren’t you? And for what? To make a fool out of me, is that it, Sam? What the fuck are you doing?”

“No!” Sam blurted out, and he was burning up, the breaths coming out quicker and quicker. “No, god, Dean, please, I swear that’s not what I’m doing.” He heard his own voice chip and break and he winced, his face flushing as he looked at the ground, avoiding Dean’s gaze. He had no idea how much Dean knew, or how much he’d felt– did the dreams count? Why had Dean been so happy about it earlier?

“Then explain it to me, ‘cause being touched and stroked and traced all the damn time by fucking nothing isn’t the most comforting experience in the world.”

“What about the dream?” Sam asked in a tiny voice, still staring holes in the patterns in the carpet.

“The dream? What about it? It was just any other dream. Why, did you–” Dean broke off, and Sam could see him frowning out of the corner of his eyes.

Sam’s heart sped up. Any other dream? Had Dean dreamt about him? Was that a normal dream? Or had it been a girl in Dean’s mind, the usual filler? He felt his eyes burning up and blurring because he was just so fucking frustrated, he had no idea what Dean thought about him or even how much of his daydreams had translated to reality, how many little touches Dean had felt. He’d thought he’d been in control, but apparently not.

Dean was waiting for him to speak, to explain, and he owed that to his brother. Drawing in a big breath, he began to speak, hoping Dean wouldn’t leave or punch him in the face or drink himself to death.

“I, uh… you’re right. My abilities… they kind of just escalated one day. Like I felt something click inside my head and then I could sort of reach out and touch things without really touching them. Like I had some extra invisible hands at my disposal. It was more than that, though, I… it was like my imagination was becoming more real. I could imagine things and the hands would do them. I think I made you have a dream because I was having one of my own, and it just kind of… bled over,” he rushed the explanation, hoping his non-incestuous version sounded logical enough to Dean. He waited for a response, cheeks burning. He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hands, trying to mask how they shook.

Dean cleared his throat, making a sort of “huh” sound before looking over at Sam with wide eyes. He didn’t look scared or angry though, which Sam guessed was a good sign.

“Well?” Sam whispered, waiting for his verdict.

“So you… you were the one touching me? Because you were imagining it?”

Sam swallowed and looked away again, meekly nodding, letting Dean steer the conversation.

“Oh.” Dean said, his own voice quiet.

“And the dream?” he added, after a beat.

Sam nodded again, and his vision was fucking blurring again, he was so stupid, so reckless, Dean was going to figure him all out, all his secrets torn wide open for everyone to see how messed up he was–

Dean got up and nudged Sam’s jaw, forcing him to look up at him. His soft smile- which Sam hadn’t noticed earlier, weird- turned into a frown as he took in Sam’s tears. “Woah, woah, woah, holy shit, Sam, don’t cry,” he said, “I’m not pissed, I swear. Not even a little bit.”

Before Sam could respond, Dean was crouching down and aiming his chin even higher up,  and then Dean’s lips were on his, but it was nothing like the dream. Dean was soft, and slow, his hands sliding back to Sam’s hair and pushing it behind his ear. He urged Sam’s mouth slowly open, taking his time, like they weren’t in a rush and could sit here doing this for years. He nudged Sam’s lips open with his teeth before kissing Sam deeper, lapping into his mouth and moving his hand down to Sam’s neck, tracing his veins and moving him gently, angling him for perfect access.

The entire time, Sam’s movements were slow, but his mind was buzzing, trying to explain Dean’s actions over and over again and only coming up with one possible answer:  _Dean feels the same way. Dean wants this too._

Sam almost laughed, the kind of laugh he had when he read his acceptance letter, and he pushed Dean away before he could accidentally bite down on his tongue or something. Dean looked at him questioningly, chest moving up and down as he panted.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked, his voice wavering like a candle flame.

Dean laughed back at him. “Were those the actions of someone who wasn’t sure?”

And just like that, Sam’s mind exploded with excitement, with happiness, with relief. He was so fucking grateful, not just that Dean didn’t blame him and wasn’t afraid of him but that, god, Dean loved him too, in the same fucked up way– they were fucked up together.

It was the best thought ever.

Sam’s invisible hands reached out and pushed Dean backward, shoving him down onto his own bed. Dean looked puzzled, but he didn’t fight it, his eyes going dark instead. “You’re one kinky sonofabitch, you know that?” Dean asked, his voice low and hungry and oh fuck.

Sam was already hard as a fucking rock, and he could tell by the way Dean’s eyes skated down to his crotch that it was obvious. Dean moaned a little, shifting against his restraints, and Sam watched with excitement and building horniness as Dean fattened up, too.

Oh, fuck. They were moving really fucking fast but Dean was so into it and so was Sam, and he’d been waiting so  _long_ , and he couldn’t fucking stop the hands, which might be a little worrisome but he just couldn’t get himself to care. He used his own real hands to strip off his clothing, and Dean was getting with the program, too, sliding his shirt off over his head and tossing it onto the floor. After a few seconds of fumbling, they were both stark naked, Sam standing by the bed and Dean spread out on it.

They spent a moment just looking at each other, taking their time because now they could. When Dean’s eyes fell from Sam’s abs to his cock, he fucking whistled, licking his lips. “You’ve been holding out on me, little brother, how many inches is that?” he asked, voice rough. One of his hands reached down to grip himself.

“Eight,” Sam growled, and Dean’s hand flew from his dick to the bed, pinned by his side.

Dean whined, which caused Sam’s dick to twitch and he was going crazy. Dean fought against the hands, but they were strong, keeping him still. “C'mon, Sammy,” Dean begged, breathless, “that just isn’t fair.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve fantasized…” Sam trailed off, gasping, unable to finish one fucking sentence. He squeezed his own dick, but only to stop himself from fucking coming already, christ. He needed to get a move on– he was leaking all over the carpet.

Dean moaned again, his own dick twitching, and his eyes roved down to the head of Sam’s cock. He chuckled. “Wow, you’re so wet,” he murmured, wetting his lips, “just like a pussy, huh? You’re so fucking wet for me, Sammy. Christ.”

Sam bit down on his lip and climbed onto the bed, straddling Dean. Dean was watching him like he was the best thing he’d ever seen, eyes wide and pupils blown and mouth hanging open. Sam leaned back, just a little, so his ass lined up with Dean’s cock. He rubbed against it, letting the head of Dean’s dick push between his cheeks before he stopped again, and Dean was swearing at him.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Sam muttered, and he twitched his head, sending the lube and condom flying out of Dean’s duffel and into his hand.

Dean laughed at that, raising an eyebrow. “You got more anymore tricks for me, baby?” he panted.

Sam just smiled down at him, and he took the condom and rolled it onto Dean’s dick, going by feeling and invisible hand assistance alone. He slicked up Dean’s cock, causing his brother to buck up against the slight touch. He slicked up Dean’s fingers, too, and then Dean was moaning again, trying to move his hands.

“Uh-uh,” Sam said, shaking his head. “You’re not gonna do a single damn thing.”

Dean tossed his head back against the pillows, baring his throat and shutting his eyes. “Fuck,” he swore, “Fuck, shit, Sammy, you’re so fucking hot. God, why didn’t we do this earlier? You’re so pretty,  so kinky. We’re gonna fuck every single night from now on, you hear me? I wanna know that ass inside and out.”

Sam squeezed his dick again, whining. “The shit you do to me,” he panted, and moved one of Dean’s hands up and behind him, making his middle finger press slowly into Sam’s hole.

Dean’s eyes shot back open and he stared at Sam, gawking. Sam smiled back, letting Dean’s fingers circle and play with his hole before pushing in, the middle finger slickly fucking in and out of him until he added a second, scissoring himself open with Dean’s thick fingers. Dean was panting like a dying man, just watching Sam with rapt attention, and Sam was basking in it, gaining confidence with each passing second. He pushed a third finger in, probing deeper, getting close to that sweet spot but not touching, he wanted to come on something more than fingers, no matter how good Dean’s felt inside him.

When he felt good and open, he slid Dean’s fingers out of him and put them on his hips, nails digging in and leaving little crescent-shaped marks. He used one hand to spread his cheeks, the other to grab at Dean’s cock so he could line it up with his hole and sink down onto it.

They both moaned at the same time when the head of Dean’s cock pushed into Sam, and he paused, shaking,  thighs flexing. Taking a deep breath, he pushed Dean further inside him, moving his hands to Dean’s hips as he wiggled his ass further down, pushing Dean deeper inside him.

God, Dean was so fucking  _thick!_  Sam had a good inch on him, but Dean was wider, filling up him up easily. Sam threw his head back and started gasping in earnest, fucking himself quickly and shallowly onto Dean’s cock until he was fully seated inside him and Sam was sitting in Dean’s lap, full of him.

They were both breathing heavily and their eyes were glued to each other, Dean waiting for Sam to make the next move.

Sam started moving in earnest, pushing his ass flat against Dean’s thighs before raising himself up again and then back down, long movements making Dean all the way inside him one moment and just the head of his cock the next. Dean was practically crying, moaning with how good it was, spitting out nonsensical dirty talk as Sam wiggled his hips back and forth as well as up and down, trying to get the head of Dean’s dick to hit his prostate straight on.

Sam leaned forward, connecting his lips with Dean’s and kissing him madly, like they really really had to make out like teenagers or the world was going to fucking end. Dean kissed back just as eagerly, licking into Sam’s mouth just like he’d imagined in that wet dream, only better. Sam made an urgent keening noise in the back of his throat and sped up the movement of his hips, the bed squeaking as he enthusiastically fucked himself onto Dean’s cock, rising up before slamming back down. He moved Dean’s hand’s again, placing one on his stomach and the other around his cock, and then he made Dean stroke him, hard and fast, the other hand tracing up and down his stomach, from his happy trail to his belly button and back again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Sammy, your ass feels so fucking good. So fucking good. Better than any girl I’ve ever had, I swear. All I want is you, baby boy. You and your long skinny cock and your tight ass. Mmh, Sammy. Oh god. Fuck. That feels so good. Faster…”

Sam lost track of what Dean was saying, and his body was moving instinctually now, his lips kissing Dean’s and his hips fucking himself mercilessly onto Dean’s dick and his invisible hands making Dean touch him all over, calloused fingers swiping through the precome on this head of his dick.

He knew they were both close and he couldn’t take it anymore, whining sluttily into Dean’s mouth and pushing his ass down into Dean’s lap, the muscles squeezing and squeezing around Dean’s cock until he felt Dean pulsing inside him, trapped by the condom. He wasn’t far behind, his vision whiting out as he came all over Dean’s hand, and all over Dean’s chest, and his face.

He groaned and slowed his hips down, working Dean through his orgasm before coming to a rest, Dean still inside him. He slumped on top of Dean, pressing his nose into Dean’s clavicle and breathing in the sweaty, post-sex smell of his brother. It was, he decided, his new favorite smell. He made a happy noise and turned off the invisible hands– it was easier now that they’d gotten what they wanted. Dean sagged against the bed, unaware he was even fighting, and moved his hands up to Sam’s back. He traced little designs in Sam’s skin, bumping over his spine and the little scars from old hunts.

“Sam,” he whispered, “this is nice n’ all but I’m getting soft, and well…”

“Right, right, right,” Sam mumbled against Dean’s skin, blushing. He lifted himself up, slowly, wincing as Dean reached behind him and pulled out. He felt empty at the loss, but then Dean’s arms were wrapping around him again, pulling him close.

They were sticky, and sweaty, and naked, but Sam couldn’t care less. All he could feel was Dean’s warm skin against him, and it was better than a dream come true, it was heaven.  Dean nudged Sam’s nose with his own until Sam looked up, and then he kissed him once, lightly.

“Tell me what’s going on in that big head of yours,” Dean said, smiling lazily down at him, and shit, his eyes were so green.

“Just happy,” Sam mumbled, too sated and tired to go into more detail. Dean huffed a laugh and squeezed him again, shifting until he got comfortable and sighing. Sam closed his eyes, resting his head on Dean’s chest. He felt a hand go up through his hair, running through it slowly.

“I’m happy, too,” he heard Dean whisper right before he drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments really mean a lot!


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